Matryoshka
At a roadside gas station, I stock up
on blue raspberry Livewires and Red Bull.
I notice hunting knives
alphabetically
arranged
by
engravement
names
near
the payment counter.
I see mine.
I see it for times. But not Erzsébet or
György or Angyal or Sándor.
I am the only killer in my family. Baby
deer American.
The matryoshka with a blade.
Tojás Szervek
I shell my organs
like a hardboiled egg.
Steam them in the sea with
wrinkled cabbage, pale beef,
dried rice.
Hands together
in Hungarian prayer.
I like to think of my body as a rosary.
Barely together—
barely anything.
Fuzz
My
mother’s pantry is filled with unused crystal cups.
They collect
dust and dead flies.
Fade
Jesus
into
fuzz.
I’ve
thought about stealing some.
Fund
my groceries.
Milky
mold ring or
glassy
ghost.
Lick
like a
rancid powdered donut.
Flat
tongue.
Wealth
hoax.
Nicole Mae is an interdisciplinary artist. Their poetry, films, and artworks reflect themes of nostalgia, longing, Prairie queerness, Hungarian diaspora, ill body, shame, and romantic love. Mae teaches poetry, hosts creative writing workshops, and runs a multimedia art subscription called Love Letters. Mae lives in Treaty Four, otherwise known as Southern Saskatchewan. Their work was recently shortlisted for the 2025 Bronwen Wallace Awards, Poetry.
